graceless
by rleucos
Summary: Azelle survives Belhalla, and lives with himself.
1. Chapter 1

Azelle did not remember much when he woke in his bed.

The pulse of his horse's heart beneath his calves, sword and tomes situated in the saddle. Arvis had smiled at him, solely for him, and somewhere between meteors, panicked screams, he saw the smile fall. Arvis could no longer meet his eyes, so he accepted his death. Tossed from his horse, his head never touched the ground, enveloped by the warm glow of magic.

His bed. He was back in Velthomer. It had been years, but he recognized it. He sat up, body stiff, and discovered that he was not alone. A priest, staves in hand, talked in hushed tones to-

"Arvis?" His throat ached. His heart ached.

The story did not sound real, but he knew it to be true. Arvis did not lie to him. "It had to be done, Azelle. You will understand one day." Arvis had always been so confident in his words.

Staring at his bandaged hands, which were roughened by licks of fire, he could not find the words to explain what he felt. Yet Arvis had always been kind to him. "I will do what I can to absolve your involvement, brother."


	2. Chapter 2

Punishment came in the form of confinement to the palace. Azelle did not leave his room, regardless, between half-eaten meals, spells of healing, and an indescribable guilt threatening to consume him.

Why did he have to survive? It was him, not the valiant Lord Sigurd or gentle Lady Aideen. It was _him_. He knew why he lived; it made whatever constitution he had twist into knots. Lord Quan and Lady Ethlyn laid dead in the desert, and he spent days in a soft bed with warm sheets and a full belly.

Perhaps, if he was stronger, he could stand up for his beliefs and leave. Sigurd had been on the right side of it all. Arvis unjustly made the decision. Try as he might, Azelle could not view Arvis in a negative light. They were brothers, never deterred by their different mothers, a cornucopia of tender moments between adolescence.

Between bouts of self-hatred, sweaty eyelids, Arvis would visit him. He sat heavily on the foot of the bed; Azelle could feel himself being watched. Words hung thickly in the air but never breached it. Night would come, Azelle would pretend to sleep, and lips met his temple. The door shut.


	3. Chapter 3

"I came to deliver this myself," Arvis said one rainy night. "I hope you will attend." It had been a mere three weeks since Then. A thousand things he was not thinking about, or trying to. He had seen the faces of Them every night. Save for one. Some hurt more than others.

Azelle accepted the envelope. His name was personally scrawled on the front, and thus he opened it gently. Cream paper, the calligraphy of palace scribes. "You're getting married?"

Arvis crouched beside his bed, arms crossed. Night meant that his hair was pulled up. Nearing bed, fruitless hours evading Them. "I am married. The people could use some revelry. A feast works, does it not?" A soft smile, and Azelle set the letter aside. This close, he could see the lines surrounding Arvis' eyes. "I need you to act as if you have never met her."

"But I haven't." Arvis chuckled, and he almost felt like a boy again as thunder rumbled outside. "I haven't left this room." he grumbled.

They had always been true with one another. "I wish you would." His hair didn't have it's normal luster. More thunder, more childhood, and Azelle ruffled his hair.


	4. Chapter 4

Purple. So much purple. Splattering of whites with hints of green. It was a different dress, but the vacant look of joy in her eyes was _her_.

His chest collapsed on its self. _Haven't met her, haven't met her_.

Like tradition, Victor's bastard made no scene but could barely make it through toasts with her only a few seats away. This was all a cruel joke that made the wine intolerable. Azelle kept his mouth shut, eyes trained on the table. It was difficult to know _the truth_ and to know Deirdre as Arvis' wife.

Between moments of the band changing, he left, slipping amongst the crowds to the less crowded gardens. The wealth of Velthomer was evident, supporting himself on the wall. He did not deserve to be here while Lex laid dead. Why did he have to live?

It did not take long, or maybe it did, for him to slide to the ground, wine goblet balanced precariously on his knee. The sun had moved; he was alone for a long while, as he should be.

Sound entered the garden. His tear-streaked (when?) lifted; the lady of the night stood before him, with a graceful smile. "Hello, brother."


	5. Chapter 5

Azelle left his room, much to Arvis' joy. Restricted to the palace yet, in some effort to wipe away what he'd done.

It was amusing, how easily treason got wiped away.

He now spent his days with Deirdre. She was familiar, she was comfortable; he did not speak of how they once knew one another. He did not speak of Sigurd, Ethlyn, Aideen.

They did not speak often, period. Their company was quiet, both comfortable with it, with him running the occasional errand for her. Azelle read through various tomes in an effort to take up his studies once more, Deirdre at needlework, until one day he asked for her to show him _how_ she did it.

Sitting side by side, she humored him, and as he attempted to do it himself, she broached the silence: "Azelle?"

"Yes?"

"May I confess something?"

He looked up. His work was...messy, a jumble of yard, and like everything else, he wished to ignore it. "Of course, Lady Deirdre."

She sighed, a large motion that shook her slim shoulders, playing with her hands, clasped in her lap. "Do you ever feel as if something is missing?"

His throat dried. Lex. Tailtu. "Not at all."


	6. Chapter 6

Azelle cracked during summer. They had left Velthomer in an effort to escape the heat drafting off of the Yied Desert. Deirdre, during the war, had not been to the summer palace, yet Azelle knew them well, thanks to Arvis' intervention when they were younger.

Always taken care of it, even while he broke down during dinner. They both looked so happy, and only one of them was innocent.

He excused himself, stumbling away from the dining room. His chest threatened to implode on itself; the halls spun. It took a few moments to find a place to crash, sobbing wickedly on a couch in some decorated room.

Arvis found him, naturally, the good older brother who indiscriminatly murdered and stole women's memories. He tried to shove Arvis away; he didn't have the strength. The sobbing made his healing burns ache. "You killed him, you killed him-" he felt ridiculous, childish, beating his fist against Arvis' chest. It was him.

Always good, always taken care of, his fists were allowed to fall. A boy who could barely lift an elfire did not have much strength. There was no I know, I'm sorry.

The summer humidity stuck to his tear-streaked face.


	7. Chapter 7

_Alright _was relative, but he felt it. Him and Arvis did not speak about his fit. He spent his days with Deirdre, often alone. It was uncouth and frowned upon for a boy to spend so much time alone with a married woman, yet no one said anything. The occasional lady said something to Arvis, usually about Deirdre's quietness as well, to which a curt respond would be given.

They loved each other, and it did hurt.

Azelle remembered Deidre's first marriage, and she did not. Azelle remember _Seliph_ and she did not.

It was cruel.

He was the first to be told that she was expecting; after the initial joy, something sad flickered across her regal face once more. Azelle did his best to keep her happy while Arvis was away. "What plagues you, my lady?"

Arvis had commented on the repetition of it all, of his own mother and Cigyun. The unnecessary kindness had all started there.

"It is silly," she said, running her fingers across her circlet in her lap. "I...feel as if I have done this before." Deirdre laughed. He did not.

"That _is_ silly," he agreed. "We should start working on a blanket."

"Naturally, brother."


	8. Chapter 8

Lex comes to him one night, in his first remembered dream. Azelle woke in a cold sweat. Fall was beginning to touch Velthomer, and he wrapped a robe around himself. Sleep often escaped him, and he allowed a small flame to flicker in his hands for light.

Somehow, he had not thought explicitly about Lex, of shared dinners, tender moments, teasing. And he was gone. Disappeared. Dead while he lived.

Unfair. Life was dull without Lex.

Sighing, Azelle laid in the gardens, stone bench cold beneath him. He passed the flame between his hands. Azelle had shown Lex magic, and it did not work out well; likewise he tripped over an ax half his size. They could still be together. What they would be doing, he did not know. Traveling? They did it well, and neither had duties in the courts they belonged to. Arvis and Deirdre were the only pieces that made him welcomed in Velthomer's court.

Bells rang to announce the emperor's return, and he did not want to see him now. He did not trust himself, and words now with Arvis came difficultly.

Arvis found him eventually, snuffing his flame out playfully. "What bothers you?"

"Lex."

"Ah."


	9. Chapter 9

The twins were born after they left Velthomer for Belhalla. It brought him out of his year long slump. Arvis was not present, initially, he was sent for, and Azelle, amongst maids and midwives, was invited. "Please don't make me do this alone," Deirdre said softly.

Azelle could not say no. He held her hand, small, delicate, dabbing her sweaty forehead. He had not been there for Seliph's birth, but he remembered his cries through the halls. She had survived then, she would survive now. She was not as frail as she appeared.

Arvis made it as the first weak cries rang through the room. He attempted to leave, yet Deirdre's hold on his hand tightened. He did not want to be here, to see verified proof of Arvis' misdeeds, to remember what had been stolen by hellfire.

He could not leave Deirdre. She was the only innocent party involved.

Her and the twins.

The second baby was much louder than the first, cries ricocheting off of the walls.

It took a few days for them to be named. It was considered bad luck. Arvis was gone for two days, and stayed with Deidre from the third on.

Julius. Julia.


	10. Chapter 10

Azelle was not stupid—it was one of many things Arvis made sure of. Between equally split time between empire and family (Arvis was good with children; he'd taken care of Azelle his whole life), the twins grew into competent, bright children, but Julius was frail, constantly seen by doctors.

The twins had the blood of Fjalar in their veins, as did he. Fire was his proficiency, and burns that should have killed him merely inconvenienced him.

They were three when Azelle felt something was wrong.

He went to see Arvis during the emperor's allotted lunch. He was bothered by traveling messengers, but a simple, "May I speak with you, brother?" was enough to have the office cleared. There was always time for him. "May I speak to you, outside of emperor and subject?"

Weight wore on his shoulders. There was a tense smile. "Of course."

Azelle took a seat, twiddling his thumbs in his lap. "You have another child."

He could hear a pin drop in Jungby.

"When?" he asked.

Arvis did not immediately answer. A lit light exploded, glass shattered on the ground, and rarely was Azelle afraid of him, even after That Day.

"Years ago. With Aida."


	11. Chapter 11

Julia was frail like her mother but not like Julius. She spent days between maids and her mother, along with him.

She thought it to be a crime that he could not braid her hair (he had attempted once, long ago, with Lex when he let it grow out) and resolved to teach him. His braids were loose, inconsistent, her hair short and the softest of lilacs, but it made her happy. Sometimes, they spent a lunch together.

Both twins were wonderful. He was Uncle Zelle, multiple syllables troubling both of them until they were six, filling his heart with a joy he was not deserving of.

Deirdre continued to ask, in private, _Does this feel familiar to you, brother_? which he brushed off time and time again. This was the first time. He did not know how she lost her memory, but Sigurd was a distant dream that plagued her monthly, Seliph did not exist, and Azelle, too, deeply felt the same. Rumors had flown, empress and grand duke (a title he did not use) meeting in the gardens far past midnight, but Arvis did not let the gossip drive a wedge between the three.

He was Deirdre's confidant.


	12. Chapter 12

Julius changed on his seventh birthday. He no longer wanted to play, and burned one of the servant's children to death. Deirdre's sweetness was sucked out of him by the dark god.

Azelle saw how, and Arvis explained it to him after Deirdre's funeral, while the weight of the imperial princess' absence weighed on them. Arvis abandoned his mantle on the floor of his office, shoulders slumped as he leaned backed in his chair. His eyes were shut, and for the first time, Azelle saw wrinkles framing his face.

"Only Deirdre could have killed him," he said as a finale to the tale.

This was fake. This was wrong. Deirdre was his-they were-he couldn't think about that. "You're the emperor. He's not." Child hunts. He did not waste time. The dark god was keeping him alive.

"I promised-"

"Break another!"

No lights broke. Flame did not flood the room. Heat did not scorch his skin. He was alive; Arvis pinched the bridge of his nose, releasing a slow breath. "I want you to leave, Azelle. I will not have you caught up in this."

He squared his jaw. "Absolutely not-"

There came the broken glass. "It isn't a choice, brother."

**AN:/ **this will be my next project, in full. come talk to me on twitter in the mean time at hectorpriamids


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